


Whiskey and Old Maps

by sharemymadness



Series: Ante Proditione [1]
Category: Uncharted (Video Games)
Genre: Affection, Alcohol, Ambiguous Relationships, Before A Thief's End, Before the Betrayal, Canon Compliant, Fluff, Implied Angst, Intimacy, Kissing, M/M, Mentions of Murder, Pre-Uncharted: A Thief's End, Romance, Treasure Hunting, kind of, working together
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-28
Updated: 2020-02-28
Packaged: 2021-02-27 23:53:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,091
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22944340
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sharemymadness/pseuds/sharemymadness
Summary: "What happened to your parents?"Sam's question was simple and without looking up from his workings Rafe shrugged nonchalantly in response. "They got in my way. I got in theirs."***Set before the events of Uncharted: A Thief's End, during the two years in which Sam and Rafe worked together, Sam inquires about Rafe's parents whilst they work together deciphering clues that may lead them to Libertalia.
Relationships: Rafe Adler & Samuel Drake, Rafe Adler/Samuel Drake
Series: Ante Proditione [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1648960
Comments: 11
Kudos: 28





	Whiskey and Old Maps

It was a cold winter evening in Scotland when Sam raised a topic that he had been wondering about. He and Rafe were seated opposite each other on the cold stone floor of the workroom as they poured over an ancient transcribed map of Libertalia. That being said, it wasn’t an official map by any standards. It had allegedly been drawn up by one of Avery’s rivals and could possibly even contain information manufactured to throw potential treasure hunters off of the trail. However, all clues must of course be analysed no matter their credibility. Harsh and biting wind forced its way through the cracks of the stone building and victimised the high flames of the wood fire into chaos; orange light dancing erratically across the walls. Across from Sam, Rafe was cross-referencing coordinates against an ancient letter written by a member of Avery’s crew, and Sam watched him absently, absorbed in his own thoughts before he spoke up. 

“What happened to your parents?” 

Sam’s question was simple and without looking up from his workings Rafe shrugged nonchalantly in response. “They got in my way. I got in theirs.”

Sam nodded and reached for his glass of whiskey which sat on a small table next to the fire, it’s golden hue illuminated by the flames. “You mean as in… you…” Sam trailed off and gestured suggestively at his throat as Rafe looked up from the map.

Rafe regarded him blankly. “Yes. Well, not me personally, of course. Can’t have something like that weighing on my conscience.” He paused, looking back to the map and extending a hand. “Could you pass me the calculator?”

Sam obliged and used the opportunity to edge closer towards Rafe. There was a new intensity in his eyes, a sparked interest. Together they had been working on deciphering the old map all day, and this new line of conversation, along with the influence of the whiskey that they had consumed excited Sam much more than a couple of coordinates. “How’d you do it?”

Rafe laughed suddenly and looked up to study Sam’s face. “Woah, Samuel. I never took you as one for parricide,” he took a swig of his own scotch and grinned wickedly as the burning alcohol slid down his throat. “Poison.” 

“Poison?”

Rafe nodded. “Poison. Had a waitress slip something special into their drinks...” He smirked and looked pointedly at the glass of whiskey that Sam was nursing, and following this gaze, Sam’s eyes widened. 

“You wouldn’t.”

“Relax. Of course I wouldn’t! How would we find Avery’s treasure without you?” Rafe chuckled into his scotch, the edge of the glass clinking against his teeth, the alcohol swimming around his head. 

“Well, good,” Sam mumbled as he shuffled closer to Rafe. A comfortable silence then stretched between them before Sam tentatively asked, “Is that… Is that the only reason?” He half-slurred, his voice deep in his throat, and Rafe frowned as he directed a look into Sam’s eyes. 

“What are you talking about?”

“I mean…” Sam placed his hand on Rafe’s thigh to steady himself, though in reality he was not half as drunk as he was acting. “...I mean is that the only reason you want me around?”

He was dangerously close to Rafe’s face now, and he could smell the potent scent of his expensive aftershave, the product in his hair, the faint mint on his breath that had since been overruled by whiskey—

“No…”

Rafe decided to play along with Sam’s games, and with that, the invisible barrier was broken. He leant into his space and allowed his lips to brush against Sam’s briefly, allowed his eyes to slip closed, allowed their breaths to mingle. Sam quickly put down his glass and placed his other hand against the cold stone floor as he leant over him and kissed him up against the wall. Rafe stopped him at that, placing a hand firmly against his chest.

“You’re drunk, Sam.”

“Oh, I’m really not,” he muttered lowly as he caught Rafe’s lips again. Rafe tilted his head back and allowed Sam to kiss softly along his jaw and down his neck.

“Does murder turn you on?” Rafe muttered darkly as Sam came to meet his eyes. “Because if so you might want to consider seeing someone—“

“You turn me on,” he interrupted without missing a beat. If not for the alcohol Sam might have been vaguely embarrassed by such a direct expression of lust. It was unlike them to be so explicit in their words; but it was out there now, and Sam knelt over Rafe with an air of dominance, his knees on either side of the other’s thighs, and began tugging at the hem of Rafe’s shirt. Rafe rolled his eyes and balled his fist in Sam’s jacket, pulling the other back down and onto him, into him, allowing himself to be kissed passionately and fiercely. Rafe’s hands rode up the expanse of Sam’s back and he found the three scars of the bullet wounds and circled them with the tips of his fingers. He found his muscular abdomen, his chest, his spine, he felt the cuts and scars that prison had gifted him, all whilst Sam began fumbling at the buckle of Rafe’s belt.

Rafe’s hands quickly traveled to Sam’s and he grasped them in his own. “This— this is fine— this is good how it is,” he managed quickly between breaths. Sam frowned at him quizzically but didn’t question his decision, merely nodding in response and continuing his quest to kiss along the entirety of Rafe’s jaw, his nose bumping against his cheek. 

Afterwards they sat against the wall together, by the dying embers of the fire, until the late hours of the night as they exchanged stories and small words and soft touches. Intimacy; the warmth of familiarity. It was what Sam had missed, what he had desperately longed for so badly that it had ached during his thirteen years in prison. It was what Rafe had never had. 

But Rafe was the one to end it, half an hour after they had drained the bottle of scotch and the light of the fire had died he bid Sam goodnight with a chaste pat on the knee and informed him of his plans for the morning. He left the room along with the warmth of everything that had happened in it, and upon shutting the door there was a silent agreement to not speak of the night’s events until the time came again; until the barrier was broken once more.

**Author's Note:**

> Hello and thank you for reading! This is my first work in my Sam/Rafe series "Ante Proditione" which will feature accounts of the two years that Sam and Rafe spent together before the betrayal. 
> 
> This is my first time writing either of these incredibly complex characters, and so I am still developing my interpretation of their relationship and characterisation. As much as I adore the games, I believe that there is so much more to explore with these two. Within this series I hope to do just that. :) 
> 
> This series will definitely not be in any form of chronological order and works will be published sporadically as and when inspiration strikes. 
> 
> Find me on tumblr @sadistichollows!


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